How do you walk into someone's life again after twenty-eight years? How do you pick up, when you were too young to know where you left off.

I imagine having that sixth sense, the certainty that what I'm looking for is within reach, even if it's still hidden.

My grandmother told me that her father used to ask her a riddle: What must you break apart in order to bring a family close together? Bread, of course.

Life can change in an instant; don't be so worried about the future that you forget to celebrate what you have right now.

The problem with you is that you always see a glass of milk half empty instead of half filled.

Seeing her sitting there unresponsive makes me realize that silence has a sound.

It's crazy, right? To love someone who's hurt you? It's even crazier to think that someone who hurts you loves you.